


The Weight of Your Name

by CatS81



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: 5+1 Things, Angst, F/M, Fluff, Friends With Benefits, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Male-Female Friendship, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-23
Updated: 2015-10-23
Packaged: 2018-04-27 18:41:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5059768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CatS81/pseuds/CatS81
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Douglas calls Carolyn 'Lyn' in private over all the years of their association...and one time he accidentally does so in public.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Polite

**Author's Note:**

> I absolutely love the idea of Douglas calling Carolyn by the nickname 'Lyn' (I think I saw it first in one of Linguini's fics and I just fell in love with it) - so I thought I'd tackle a 5+1 thing around the concept. I've gone for various contexts - friendship, hurt/comfort, romance....I really hope it works *crosses fingers*
> 
> I've mucked about with the timeline of the show a bit - this fic basically spans almost 20 years - so definitely take it with a very large pinch of salt ;)
> 
> Thanks as always to Linguini for the beta.

_1995_

Carolyn Knapp-Shappey groaned, the strong arm wrapping around her waist making her necessary departure a near impossibility, and she sighed as she was pulled back against the comforting planes of a broad chest.

“Douglas,” she murmured, trying and failing to sound firm. “I really do need to go.”

He chuckled, nuzzling into her neck, naked body gloriously warm flush to hers. “No, you don’t.”

“What part of ‘I need to leave before midnight’ did I not make clear?”

He was kissing her with more determination, lips moving teasingly across her skin. “I have no recollection of that conversation….”

“Of course you don’t.” She rolled her eyes, though found she was angling her neck to allow him closer access, shivering as he located a particularly sensitive spot with his tongue. “I mean it. That’s enough.”

“She says, fighting me off with a stick.”

“I’ve indulged you once already tonight….”

“I didn’t hear any complaints.”

“I was being polite….”

“ _Very_ polite.” He gave a gentle laugh, the sound reverberating through her skin and heightening her spiralling and inconvenient arousal. “In fact, I seem to recall an _awful lot_ of polite agreement….”

“I can be less polite, if you’d rather.”

“Oh, I’ve got no doubts about that.” His palm had slid up her ribcage to cup her breast, thumb brushing her nipple, and she inhaled in a shudder as he pressed deliberately against her. “ _God_ , Lyn….Feel what you do to me….”

The epithet was unfamiliar to her ears, and she was flooded with warmth as she allowed it gradually to settle, body luxuriating in his touch even as her mind raced. The way he had breathed the name into her skin, the almost prayer-like exhalation of his velvet baritone, caused a complicated ripple across her heart, and it worried her. Their relationship had been intended to be nothing more than a mutual post-divorce fling, and it bothered her that feelings were beginning to develop despite their ruthless ground-rules to the contrary. 

She sighed, bewildered that she had allowed herself to get into such a situation in the first place. She had, in the past, belittled her fellow cabin crew for succumbing to the attentions of Captains such as Douglas Richardson, the cliché repellent to her very soul – so many times she had witnessed her colleagues become embroiled in affairs and had scoffed at their drama, utterly determined not to follow suit. True, she had always been drawn to Douglas, his intellect and quick-wit surprising her, but she had schooled herself not to be seduced by the ready charm, the smooth talk. The disintegration of their respective marriages at roughly the same time had been a catalyst in her acceptance of their attraction, and the first time he kissed her she had pushed back with fervent passion, mortified by the depth of her desire.

_Lyn…._ She blinked as she turned the name over in her mind once more. It effused intimacy, sensuality and a level of comfort that both thrilled and terrified her, and she sighed, pushing him away and sitting up.

He gave a husky groan of disapproval and reached for her wrist. “Five minutes, Lyn.”

“ _Five_?”

“I could _possibly_ stretch to six.”

“Oh, how terribly ambitious of you. I’m flattered.” She rolled her eyes, though blinked back towards him, her gaze softening. “I really do need to go, Douglas. Arthur will be wondering where I am.”

“Will he? I seem to recall caring very little where my mother was when I was fifteen.”

“Yes, well; he’s not you, thank God. Arguably more sensitive and more thoughtful than seemingly you’ve ever been.”

“I can be perfectly sensitive and thoughtful.”

“Of course you can.”

“When the occasion calls for it.”

“ _Anyway_ ,” she reiterated, rising from the bed and stretching for her discarded clothes, allowing the silence to elongate as she pulled them on to her frame. “The name you used just now….”

His dark eyes were impassive in the soft light as they tracked her movements, posture relaxed against the pillows. “What of it?”

“No-one’s ever called me that before.”

“And…?”

“And….” She tried for a casual shrug, avoiding his eye as she fastened the buttons of her blouse. “Just an observation, that’s all.”

“Do you like it?”

She exhaled with derision at the smug notes woven through his question, though felt her heart contract. “I have no strong opinion either way.”

“Oh, _good_. Does that mean carte blanche, then?”

“Absolutely not,” she snapped at his teasing grin, fixing him with a fierce glare and jabbing a finger in emphasis. “And don’t even _think_ about using it in public, you arrogant….”

“Meaning I can use it in private?”

“Oh, for goodness sake, Douglas!”

“Well, _can_ I?”

She tutted, reaching for her jacket. “If you _must_.”

“I must.” He grinned and threw back the covers to approach her, drawing her against him before pressing a gentle kiss to her mouth. “I absolutely must, Lyn.”

She pulled away after a moment and surveyed him, narrowed eyes raking up and down his body before shaking her head. “Put some clothes on, you bloody idiot.”

He laughed and released her, falling languidly back on to the bed. “Will I see you tomorrow?”

“I’m on the Miami flight so, yes: I imagine you will.”

“And there’s absolutely nothing I can do to convince you of the merits of the mile-high club?”

“ _No_ ,” she affirmed, rolling her eyes as he chuckled. “Let me spell this out for you in words of one syllable, pillock….”

“Go on, then.”

“As well you know, there is no chance of that in the air so shut up, you great clot.” She raised her chin and regarded him in triumph. “Ha.”

“Bravo. I must add that to my list of games for the flight.”

“Oh yes, _do_. I’d very much like to see you attempt it.” She walked back towards him, quietly elated when he stretched to reach for her kiss. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“‘Night, Lyn.”

_Lyn…._ She smiled despite herself, chest expanding as the name wrapped itself about her heart. _Lyn. **Lyn**. Oh, for pity’s sake; I should have damn well told him to stick it…._ With a conflicted sigh, she pushed open the bedroom door and headed down the stairs.

TBC


	2. Crisis

_1996_

The bottle was taunting him, amber liquid glinting in the soft light of the room. He was tempted, had been bitterly tempted since he had bought it several hours before, but somehow he had found the strength to resist. He had set the bottle onto the kitchen table, fingers shaking with the effort of remaining calm, and had sunk into a chair facing it, the torture of denial instantaneous. Time had fallen away as he had stared at the object of his desire, remembering its taste, the silky texture in his throat, and every atom in his body longed to experience it again. He wanted to forget, to pour the whiskey down his gullet until he could no longer feel, until he was anaesthetised against the guilt and the melancholia. He wanted to fall into an unconscious stupor and sleep until the sun burned his eyelids. He had reached for the bottle multiple times but something had stopped him on each occasion, hand hesitating as he battled with the part of his mind that screamed his need.

Presently he exhaled in a shudder, the breath curling from his lips into the quiet space, and he stretched for the phone, fingers dialling before he could consciously acknowledge it. He found he was unable to speak as the familiar voice answered, her tone increasingly irate as the seconds ticked by, but he forced the words into his mouth.

“I bought whiskey.”

She hesitated for a second. “Douglas?”

“It’s standing on my kitchen table.”

“ _Leave_ it there, do you hear me? I’m coming straight over.”

She rang off abruptly and he dropped his head into his hands, almost giddy with relief at the thought of her arrival. _I can’t do this alone. God knows, it’s pathetic, but I can’t…._ He squeezed his eyes closed and bade her silently, desperately to hurry.

* * *

Carolyn bustled past him as he opened the front door, striding uninvited down the corridor and into the kitchen, where she gestured impatiently to the whiskey bottle. Douglas steeled himself against the incoming onslaught.

“So, come on, then,” she began, cobalt eyes glittering in the half-light. “What the hell is all this about?”

He exhaled, folding his arms and leaning back against the work surface. “If you’re just going to lecture me….”

“Oh, for pity’s sake….”

“I don’t know what to do, Lyn.”

He was unable to prevent the strangled quality to his voice and he watched her snatch a breath in reaction, expression shifting into one of intense concern.

“Well, the first thing we’re going to do,” she announced, and he felt his heart soften at the plural pronoun and the matter-of-fact tone, “is get rid of temptation.”

He gestured in exhausted concession, eyes tracking her movements as she stepped forwards and emptied the contents of the bottle down the sink, the air becoming saturated by the tantalising aroma as the liquid swirled around the plughole. She said nothing as she set the depleted bottle aside and turned to the kettle, flicking the switch and stretching to the cupboard for the mugs. A tiny spark of amusement flickered in his chest that she was so familiar with the layout of his kitchen, though it was rapidly usurped by anguish once more.

Almost a minute passed in silence before she pressed a cup into his hands, the warmth infusing through to his bones, and he followed her as she walked into the living room, and took a seat on the couch.

“What’s this about, Douglas?” she asked, gentleness edging into her tone as she took a sip from her tea. “It’s been a long time since you’ve come this close….”

He shrugged with admission. “Years.”

“So what’s triggered it?”

He tried to organise the haphazard thoughts that were tumbling through his mind, and blew out a frustrated breath at their stubbornness. “Sarah phoned this morning.”

“And?”

“And…she and Emily are moving…to Cumbria. Barrow-in-Furness, to be precise.”

Carolyn raised an eyebrow. “When?”

“Next week.”

“Ah. How considerate of her to give you such advanced notice.”

“Isn’t it, just?”

She paused, features pinching into a frown as she apparently considered his words and actions. “Well, it’s not ideal,” she said after a beat, “but it’s hardly the end of the world. You can still travel up there for weekends and the like with Emily, can’t you?”

“That’s just it,” he replied, stabbing pains lancing through his chest. “Sarah’s appealing the original court verdict. She wants to reduce my visiting hours to once a month….”

“What?!”

He felt his voice begin to splinter. “I can’t only see my daughter once a month, Lyn. I _can’t_.”

“ _Why_ , for heaven’s sake? I thought things between you and Sarah were relatively civil?”

“So did I.”

“So what the hell does she think she’s playing at?” 

He attempted a shrug. “Something to do with my irregular and erratic working patterns not being compatible with a child who needs stability.”

“You’re a _pilot_. You’ve _been_ a pilot all of your professional life….”

“….and all of Emily’s life.”

“What’s changed, then? Why is that suddenly considered incompatible with parenting?”

“Absolutely no idea.”

She hesitated, and he felt her eyes raking over him, trying to interpret his expression. “Is there a new man on the scene? Some attempt at building a new family, without you as an unwanted complication?”

Douglas exhaled in a shudder, allowing his head to fall back against the sofa, his eyes to drift towards the ceiling. “I don’t know. She was very cagey when I put that exact query to her.”

“Hm. It would also explain the need for such a drastic move geographically.”

“She’s maintaining that’s simply for work…though last time I checked, barristers weren’t area-specific.”

“Quite.” Carolyn sighed, draining her tea before setting the mug aside, and he blinked towards her as she faltered slightly before speaking again. “I can’t help but notice this is all happening since you started seeing whats-her-name.”

He gave a disdainful snort, catching the undisguised derisive notes saturating her tone. “Her name is Helena. As you damn well know.”

“I can never keep up with your ever-changing stream of….”  


“Don’t, Lyn.”

“Alright.” She held up a placating palm, accurately reading his distress and relenting. “Do you think it might be a factor?”

He sighed, the air stuttering from his lungs. “I would hope not. I would hope we’re beyond such point-scoring this far down the line.”

“It just smacks of spite, that’s all. There’s no rational explanation otherwise.”

“You mean apart from the fact that I’m…?”

She silenced him with a daggered look. “Don’t. Don’t even think it.”

“It’s difficult not to. She’s effectively trying to cut me out of my daughter’s life.”

“You’re a good father,” Carolyn replied firmly, leaning towards him in earnest. “You _are_ , Douglas.”

He flinched at the reassurance, unable to accept it. “Well, the proof of the pudding will be in the eating, as they say. Let’s have this conversation again when she’s an adult….”

“Fine. My opinion will be unchanged.”

He held her gaze, aching with gratitude that she was with him and for her fierce, unswerving loyalty. “I don’t know what to do for the best,” he admitted, after several moments had passed.

“Well, it’s obvious, isn’t it?” she replied without hesitation, arching an eyebrow. “You’ve got to turn up to court every time you’re asked to and fight her every step of the way. Tooth-and-nail.”

His sigh was soft. “And if I don’t have a leg to stand on?”

“Why would you _not_?” She exhaled irascibly. “You have the right to a relationship with your daughter, regardless of the way in which your marriage ended.”

“It’s never as clear-cut as that. You know it better than anyone.”

She inclined her head but ignored him, eyes narrowing to slits. “Of course, it’s all on the proviso that you keep yourself whiter-than-white. No more of this stupid whiskey-buying.”

“Carolyn….”

“Because if there’s one way to guarantee that a judge will find in her favour, it’s….”

“I know. It was just….”

“A reflex. Something you’re unfortunately hard-wired for, as things stand.” She stood up in a decisive motion and stepped back towards the kitchen. “I’m going to stick the kettle on again, alright?”

He nodded, heart aflame with appreciation as he watched her, conflicted by the long-held suspicion that his feelings ran far deeper than he was prepared to acknowledge. He took a breath to address her but she was quicker, her head appearing back around the door jamb.

“If this ever happens again,” she told him, pointing a teaspoon in his direction for emphasis. “I want you to promise me that you’ll do exactly what you’ve done tonight.”

“Surely you’re not advocating my purchase of alcohol?”

“ _Obviously_ not that, you clot. I meant you’re to ring me if you succumb. Or, if not me, then at least _someone_.”

_It’ll always be you, Lyn…._ “Oh, of course. Why not spread the news far and wide that I’m a complete…..”

“Oh, enough of this self-indulgent rot,” she snapped. “Do you want decaf?”

“Not a chance.”

She tutted and disappeared once more, his small smile fading into the solitude. It both consoled and concerned him, the realisation that he had come so much to rely on her over the past few years. She was his crutch, a balm against the relentless self-doubt and grip of addiction, her straightforward approach to problem-solving endlessly reassuring. He was aware that he needed to wean himself away, for the sake of his new relationship if nothing else; meeting Helena had put paid to his sporadic nights with Carolyn but he was finding letting go of their psychological connection far harder. With a sigh, he closed his eyes, unable to summon the strength to fight in the present moment, content to listen to the comforting sounds of her bustling around his kitchen.

TBC


	3. Comfort

_2000_

Carolyn replaced the handset almost in slow-motion, mind spinning as she tried to process the conversation. She sank into the chair behind her, legs suddenly unsteady, and drew a shuddering breath, the air sharp against her lungs. Her mother had been tearful, verging on hysterical, and Carolyn had felt an obligation to remain stoic in calm contrast, despite the constriction tightening in her own heart. She squeezed her eyes closed, the beginnings of a headache scratching beneath her skin, startling as she heard the portacabin door rattle open.

“Good _God_ , it’s wild out there,” Douglas announced as he stepped across the threshold, vigorously shaking his umbrella and shrugging out of his sodden jacket.

“Is it?” she murmured, only half-listening as he busied himself with the kettle, distracted by the effort of subduing the pressure in her throat, by the spiralling of her thoughts.

“Stair-rods,” he continued, obliviously dropping tea bags into mugs, “and blowing a gale. Nose-to-tail traffic on the A46.”

“Well…you’re here now.”

“Hm. Where’s Arthur?”

She gestured towards the door. “Out getting milk.”

“Ah.” He clicked the kettle off with a flourish before it could boil and raised his eyebrows in question. “Unless you’re happy with black?”

“Don’t be absurd….”

“Hence sending your only child out into the torrential downpour….”

“Or dramatic.”

“Just think of him, Carolyn: shivering in the bitter autumnal rain, his own mother having sent him to….”

He broke off and she acknowledged the abrupt silence by raising her head, sighing as he ran his eyes across her, apparently assessing her countenance.

“What’s happened?”

She swallowed, sheer force of will allowing her to answer with an even tone. “I’m fine.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

She supressed a sob at the gentleness of his voice, the concern written into every contour of his face as he approached her, and she took a fortifying breath. “I just finished a phone call with my mother….”

“Oh?”

“My father….”

“Carolyn….” He closed the gap between them in anticipation, coming to rest just behind her, and she felt her heart begin to splinter.

“They think it was a massive stroke. Instantaneous.”

“Oh, Lyn.” His hands had found her shoulders, kneading in soothing motions across the tense muscles, and she passed shaking fingers across her forehead, clawing for equilibrium. The tenderness of his touch, combined with the gravelled softness of his voice was threatening to overwhelm her. It had been years since he had last used the nickname, and it struck her to the depths of her bones, piercing through her defences and rendering her silent. It was so easy, the way it rolled off his tongue and it enveloped her with comfort, for a precious second dulling the ache in her chest.

“Can I do anything?” he was asking gently, and she blinked back to herself, patting the hand that continued to squeeze her shoulder before she pulled away. “If you need to….”

“No,” she replied, wincing at the snappish quality of her rebuttal but unable to prevent it.

“I can hold the fort here.”

“No need. My sister’s with my mother.”

“And you don’t think perhaps it might be a good idea to…?”

“This is still a fledgling company, Douglas, in case you’d forgotten. As the CEO, I can’t just….”

“Lyn.” The single syllable was quiet yet authoritative, and she felt it jolt anew against her heart. His hands had returned to his sides, and she fought back a fresh wave of grief, the name pounding inside her skull. “Just stop for a minute, would you?”

She sighed. “He was eighty-three….”

“That’s really not the point, and you know it.”

She pushed away from the desk and turned to face him, determined to meet his eye. “I’m perfectly fine.”

“You need time to tell Arthur, at least.”

She held his gaze before releasing a pent-up breath. “I suppose there is that.”

“Were they close?”

“Oh, you know Arthur. He thinks the world of everyone.”

“Were _you_?”

She paused, painful memories flaring behind her eyes. “He…disapproved of certain choices I made, put it that way.”

“Ah.”  
“The whole debacle over running the sweet shop, for instance….” She broke off and shrugged, unwilling to expand further, and she held up a palm of concession. “Alright. Give me half an hour or so when Arthur gets back.”

He sighed. “Lyn….”

“And you can stop with all that. It’s not helping.”

“No-one else is here.”

“Nevertheless.”

He took a breath to reply but was interrupted by the portacabin door being flung open, a bedraggled Arthur hurrying inside and briefly allowing in the squally rain before he closed it once more.

“Wow!” he exclaimed, wiping his face on the lining of his jacket before placing the pint of milk onto the desk at his side. “Brilliant storm! I think it might even thunder in a minute! Hi, Douglas!”

Carolyn felt her heart lurch at his bounding enthusiasm, putting off addressing him for a moment as she watched him start to make the tea, chattering as he did so. She could feel Douglas’ eyes on her, and she closed her own for composure before murmuring, “Arthur. Leave it, would you?”

Arthur blinked. “The kettle’s about to boil, Mum. Give me a second and I’ll just….”

“No. It can wait.”

Douglas cleared his throat and retrieved his jacket. “I’ll go and do the walk-around.”

Carolyn gave him a tight-lipped smile, his sensitivity flooding her with appreciation, and she tracked him until he stepped from the portacabin before returning her attention to her son.

“What is it, Mum?” he asked, faint lines of worry creasing his forehead.

She sighed. “Come and sit down, dear-heart. I need to talk to you.”

TBC


	4. Distraction

_2010_

Douglas stared at the documents, crisp paper sharp against the skin of his fingers. He had been expecting it, though the arrival of the large envelope at his place of work had been somewhat of a shock; he had assumed such official paperwork would have been sent home. _Crossed wires somewhere_ , he pondered. _Not that it really makes much difference…._ He sighed, eyes drifting across the sterile legal terms, and he tried not to acknowledge the constriction binding the muscles of his chest. It had all been at his behest, she had never contested even for a moment, and yet….seeing the words in stark reality brought home the finality of his decision. _I really thought she was the answer….and yet I still managed to screw it up in spectacular fashion. I can’t blame her for a second for what she…._

“Oh, for goodness sake; not you as well.”

Carolyn stepped into the portacabin and rolled her eyes, tone characteristically acerbic as she appraised him with her hand on her hip. “Martin’s also moping about looking like a wet weekend. What is this: miserable pilots day?”

He shrugged, plastered on a smile. “Sensitive as ever, I see.”

“Well, come _on_. The sun is shining, we’re fully booked until the middle of next week, we’re barely two hours away from flying to Mauritius….”

“Ah, yes. The Dalai Lama’s guide to happiness famously includes flying to Mauritius, right after all that stuff about inner peace.”

“And what a wise man he is.”

He shook his head though her riposte made him smile. “What’s wrong with Martin, anyway?”

“Oh, who knows. He and Arthur are having some sort of tête-à-tête in the cabin; I thought I’d better leave them to it.”

“Probably best.”

She frowned as she caught sight of the papers atop the desk, and she took a step towards him. “What’s all that?”

He gave a heavy sigh, sobering once more beneath the weight of her question. For a brief moment he debated lying, bundling up the documents and making his excuses, but the words had formed in his mouth before he could stop them. “An ending neatly tied in a bow.”

“Don’t give me all that cryptic nonsense, Douglas. It was a simple enough….” She broke off as her eyes traced the neat typeset, comprehension settling across her features. “Ah.”

“My decree absolute. My _third_ decree absolute, if we’re being specific.”

Carolyn harrumphed. “I hope she didn’t make any ludicrous demands in the settlement?” 

“Not particularly. I think she was just keen for it all to be over.”

“Well, it’s for the best, isn’t it? For all concerned, given the circumstances.”

He inclined his head. “Hm.”

“That’s not terribly convincing.”

“I’m not terribly convinced.”

“Of course you’re not,” she continued, her no-nonsense tone oddly soothing. “You did it because you felt you _had_ to, not because you _wanted_ to in an absolute sense.”

“No-one wants three divorces, Lyn.”

“Let me refer you back to my previous question.”

“Question?” He raised an eyebrow. “Or statement?”

“You know very well what I think about the matter, Douglas.”

“Yes, indeed. Clinical detachment very much noted.”

She sighed, pulling out a chair and sitting next to him. “Don’t mistake my sense of pragmatism for a lack of empathy.”

“Heaven forbid.”

“I’ve been there; twice, if you recall. Different circumstances, but even so.”

He was unable to prevent a scathing tone. “Don’t tell me you weren’t leaping for joy on each occasion?”

She held his gaze, eyes hardening to flint. “How long have we known each other?”

“Even when it was _Gordon_?”

She paused for a moment and then shrugged in concession. “There may have been a _small_ amount of leaping, granted….”

“Gazelle-like as you celebrated your much-sought-after freedom?”

“…but there was still a sense of personal failure. Even given the fact that he turned out to be an utter bastard.” She glared at him and raised an eyebrow. “Gazelle?”

“It’s a compliment.”

“Is it _really_?”

“Of course.”

Carolyn rolled her eyes and applied her palms to her thighs in a decisive motion as she stood. “Right. Enough feeling sorry for yourself.”

“Oh, I _do_ apologise. I didn’t realise I was being _timed_.”

“You need to put it behind you,” she continued without acknowledging his retort. “And to that end, I suggest that once in Mauritius we revert to form, and….”

“Lyn….”

“…go and have some horribly dysfunctional sex; agreed?”

He chuckled despite himself at her chosen phrasing, memories flashing behind his eyes. “Horribly?”

“Well, alright.” She tutted and huffed out a breath. “ _Pleasantly_ dysfunctional, then. Will that do?”

He grinned. “At a push.”

“Oh, fine. You suit yourself.”

He snatched her hand before she could move away, pressing a slow, languorous kiss to her palm, flicking his tongue against her wrist. Her subtle perfume was intoxicating, the taste of her skin comforting and familiar, and he felt himself begin to stir.

“I will,” he told her roughly, fighting back a powerful urge to drag her into his lap, gratified by the tiny hitch in her breathing.

“Good,” she replied, clipped tone at odds with her obvious reluctance to remove her hand from his, even as she did so. “You’ve got five minutes to pull yourself together and then I expect you to: a – do the walkaround, b - sort out Martin….

“Hang on: do I need to make a list?”

“….c – make sure the two of you are properly prepared for this flight, d - talk to the tower….”

“Is that an order, Madam?”

“Four orders, I think you’ll find, moron.”

“Anything else?”

“I’ll call them as they come to me.”

“I’m sure you will.” He watched her as she nodded and began to head back towards the door, unable to prevent himself from calling after her. “Lyn?”

She half-turned, eyes narrowing. “Yes?”

“It’s not just about distraction….”

“I’m not having this conversation, Douglas.”

“It’s never just been about that.”

“ _Do_ shut up. Before I revoke the offer entirely.” She raised a palm and the words perished on his tongue. “No more of this nonsense now. Five minutes, or I’ll start to dock your pay.”

He smiled at her brusqueness, though frustration arced through him that she was unwilling to hear his explanation. _Christ, Lyn, how much have we used each other over the years? I don’t want you to think that I don’t….._

”Fine,” he heard himself say, dismissing the notion as it formed in his mind. “You are, as always, generous to the last.”

“Four minutes and thirty seconds, you pillock.”

“Go on, then. Leave me to my allocated misery.”

She rolled her eyes and swept from the portacabin, and he waited until the door had closed before releasing his breath, head falling backwards. _You’ve got to get past this_ , he affirmed silently, rubbing a hand across his eyes. _It’s over, and there’s no way back. Just take her up on it and don’t think. Don’t think._ With a further sigh, he forced himself to his feet, ignoring the cascade of feelings as they skittered across the surface of his heart.

TBC


	5. Complicity

_2011_  


Douglas pushed open the door to the galley, eyebrows rising as he took in Carolyn’s amused demeanour. She was chuckling, shoulders shaking with mirth as she set herself to the passenger meals, experienced hands deft in their task.

“Not like you to be so buoyant on a passenger flight,” he remarked, stepping into the small annex and closing the door in his wake.

“No, well…,” she replied, features creasing in a grin as she turned to face him. “Sometimes one is pleasantly surprised.”

“By _passengers_?”

“Indeed.”

“Good Lord.” He stared at her. “Are you feeling alright?”

“Perfectly alright, thank you.” She inclined her head, apparently in thought. “Though evidently not as chipper as _certain_ people on this flight.”

“Oh?”

She laughed, and it cheered him to the core of his bones. He gestured in offer towards the tin of coffee, and she nodded.

“Come on, then,” he continued, once the kettle had begun to boil, steam billowing into the space between them. “Are you going to share your secret with the rest of the class?”

“I don’t know.” Her sapphire eyes were shining with an appealing mischief. “What’s it worth?”

“I can’t possibly make a judgement like that without having more information.”

“Oh, for _shame_ , Douglas.” Her tone was mocking and triumphant, and she made to turn back to the microwave. “Well, never mind.”

“Hold on – I’m making you coffee, aren’t I?”

“Ah, but you were doing that anyway. Because you are _such_ a kind and gentlemanly pilot.”

“I am; for my sins.”

She held his gaze before rolling her eyes, and he fought to hold in his laughter. “Oh, _alright_. Buy me a drink when we land and you’ve got a deal.”

“Done.” He grinned. “I _would_ make a comment about how easy you….”

“But you won’t – given your ridiculous delusion of being a gentleman.”

“One drink, Carolyn: selling yourself short?”

She glared at him, though he was well aware it was largely an affectation. “Do you want to hear this or not?”

“I’m on tenterhooks.”

“Hm.”

“Honestly. This could otherwise qualify for one of the most tedious flights in history.”

“Quite. Hence my uncharacteristic glee.” She took a conspiratorial step towards him, accepting the proffered mug with a nod of thanks. “Alright. You’re aware that the couple in 9A and B are honeymooners?”

“Yes,” he drawled, leaning his weight against the counter. “Though _because_ of that fact I’m _slightly_ perplexed as to their choice of airline….”

“They’re young, Douglas. And we’re cheap.”

“How romantic.”

“ _Isn’t_ it? It warms my heart to think of us as a facilitator for love’s young dream.”

He raised an eyebrow at the undercurrent to her words, the wicked delight glinting in her eyes. “Does it _really_?”

“Of course.”

“And by ‘facilitator’, you mean…?”

“Flying them to their honeymoon destination. Obviously.”

He allowed the deliberate pause to elongate, enjoying the merriment arcing between them. “Of course you did.”

“What else could I _possibly_ have meant?”

“Well, let’s see: young honeymooners, confined space….”

“Speaking from personal experience?”

“Couldn’t tell you.” He grinned wolfishly. “I’m a gentleman, don’t forget.”

“I _do_ tend to forget that, Douglas. On a regular basis.”

He laughed at her tone, though it was without any real rancour. “Am I to assume this involves attempting membership of a certain prestigious club?”

She gave a wide smile. “Think wandering hands beneath a blanket….”

“Oh dear.”

“…All under the misapprehension that they were being fiendishly subtle.”

His chuckle was soft as he imagined the scene, and he shook his head in solidarity. “Poor kids.”

“I think being interrupted by someone old enough to be their mother was more than enough to kill the mood.”

“You’re such a spoil sport.”

She tutted. “And I suppose you’d have encouraged them, would you?”

“I might have turned a blind eye and spared their blushes, certainly.”

“Oh, for goodness sake; it’s not a private jet!”

Her consternation was hugely amusing and he was unable to prevent a grin. “You remember the days, don’t you?”

“As a newlywed?” Carolyn gave am exaggerated shudder of horror. “I try very hard not to.”

“All those hormones and expectations….It’s a glorious time in a marriage.”

“Speaks the man who’s had three.”

“And the honeymoon experience on each occasion was sublime.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Mutually?”

He held her gaze, aware that his eyes were twinkling, enjoying the resurrection of the tension crackling between them. It had lapsed in recent years and he realised with a jolt that he had missed it. He risked a small step towards her, battling back an urge to touch her arm. “I think perhaps you can answer that yourself, don’t you?”

“It might have slipped your mind, Douglas,” she replied in a haughty tone after a beat, “but I’ve never in fact been married to you.”

“Ah, but you _have_ enjoyed many of the same benefits over the years.”

“ _Have_ I?”

“Admittedly not at thirty-thousand feet.”

“ _Especially_ not at thirty-thousand feet.”

“Or even at twenty-thousand, more’s the pity.”

“Of course not.” She exhaled with derision. “What on earth do you take me for?”

“I just think perhaps we missed a trick, that’s all.”

“Do you, indeed?”

“Not necessarily joining the club, you understand….”

“Heaven forfend.”

“….but you always were _remarkably_ good with your hands, Lyn. I’m sure I could find a blanket from somewhere.”

She was clearly trying to rein in her amusement as their eyes locked together, ripples of the past washing over both of them in a warm, gentle wave. The intense attraction that had always been present had mellowed in recent years, and it thrilled him to discover that shards of it still existed, despite the shift in their dynamic.

She broke away with a snort after a long moment, and he felt himself grin. “Oh, go and do some work, you ridiculous pilot.”

He laughed, pushing himself away from the counter and raising his mug in a mock toast. “Your wish is my command, dear leader.”

“Well, naturally. Now get out.”

He inclined his head in concession, fighting a powerful instinct to brush his fingers to her waist, to re-learn the generous curves of her hips as he passed her. His chest swelled with sentiment, with nostalgia, as he stepped from the galley and back towards the flight deck.

TBC


	6. Instinct

_2014_

Douglas strolled along the railway platform, content to fall into step beside Arthur beneath the weak warmth of the October sunshine. The younger man was chattering in his usual effusive fashion, though Douglas found himself fading in and out, his attention focused in part on his surroundings and on the couple ahead. Carolyn and Herc were bickering as they walked, Douglas catching the thread of the contretemps in the rise and fall of their voices, and he shook his head in amusement. There had been an adjustment period following Martin’s departure and the subsequent Knapp-Shappey-Shipwright marriage, but Douglas had to concede that things had settled comfortably. He had been touched when Carolyn had appointed him Captain over her new husband, grateful for her acknowledgement of their shared past. He had even managed to supress his natural irritation at Herc, forcing his heart to make peace with the reality of Carolyn’s choice of life-partner, and ignoring the twinge of regret that still persisted. He was content, he mused, eyes idly tracing the lines of her back as he continued to eavesdrop. Not quite happy, at least not on the Arthur Shappey scale of such, but largely at ease with the current path his circumstances were leading him down.

Herc’s short gasp of alarm was enough to jolt Douglas from his reverie, and he felt the world slow down as his brain caught up with what was happening. Carolyn was stumbling, her momentum throwing her towards the edge of the platform as a train hurtled into the station with terrible simultaneity. Arthur was shouting for his mother in panic, features contorted with anguish as he staggered towards her. Douglas grasped for her desperately, horror rising in a sickening wave through his chest, and he heard himself cry out her name, instinct over-riding his usual restraint.

“LYN!”  


Herc was shouting in a frenzy, the material of Carolyn’s jacket having slipped through his fingers and Douglas lunged further, somehow managing to snare her wrist and yank her towards him. His heart was pounding as adrenaline spiked along his nerves, the blood roaring in his ears, and he had enveloped her in his arms before he realised it, her cheek pressed against his chest.

Reality fell away in a haze as he continued to hold her, the intense relief at her safety intermingling with the sensuous feel of her body, the scent of her skin filling his senses. It had been years since he had touched her in any capacity, yet she was so familiar it made him ache with longing. He felt a sudden hunger to feel her warmth, to check that she was indeed alive and present, and he brushed his fingers to her cheek as she made to pull away.

“Lyn?” he whispered, his voice rough as he struggled to control the flare of emotion in his throat.

She held his gaze, and he was gratified as she leant slightly into his touch, eyes flickering closed for the briefest of moments before she stepped back towards Herc.

“Christ, Carolyn: are you alright?” the other man was asking, his arm slipping about his wife’s waist as Arthur pressed a shaky kiss to her cheek.

“Perfectly fine,” she snapped, even as her son pulled her closer. “Honestly, you two: don’t fuss.”

“Mum,” Arthur chastised before Herc had the chance, “you could have been _killed_.”

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous, Arthur…..”

“Douglas, you’re a _hero_!”  


Carolyn exhaled in derision though her eyes were locked to Douglas’, and he felt his heart expand as he felt her communicate all of the emotion she would never verbalise. He gave an exaggerated shrug to break the tension, laughing in surprise as Arthur stepped forward and hugged him fiercely.

“Well, I think we could all do with a large G and T,” Herc announced with fervour, inclining his head towards Douglas. “Or whatever floats your boat, Captain.”

“Pineapple juice!” Arthur announced confidently before Douglas could reply. “Nothing really beats that, does it, Douglas?”

“Absolutely not,” he affirmed, unable to prevent a warm smile at the young man’s enthusiasm. “Lead on, Arthur.”

Arthur beamed, wrapping his arm about his mother as the four of them fell into step together, and Douglas drew a breath, willing the return of his equilibrium. He was determined not to focus on the potential tragedy, on the unbearable grief if he had failed to save her, forcing himself instead to steady his breathing, to clear his mind.

“Lyn?” Herc was saying to Carolyn in question, the repetition of the previously private epithet reinforcing Douglas’ loss of control, and he glanced towards her to observe her response. In almost twenty years of using the nickname, it had never once before passed his lips in public. It was a testament to his utter hysteria at the prospect of losing her that the name had escaped his defences, and he was well aware that she would berate him for it once the shock had settled. The name was an expression of their intimacy in all respects and he found he still coveted it, still wanted it to be something that was uniquely theirs. _You can tear me off a strip all you like, Lyn,_ he thought as he looked at her. _But my instinct got the better of me and I’ll never be sorry for that…._

“Shut up,” she growled, and Douglas chuckled as Herc shook his head in bemusement. 

“Interesting that you’ve never allowed _me_ to shorten your….”

“I mean it,” she warned. “Shut up now and shut up fast, or so help me, Herc, I’ll….”

She was silenced as her husband yanked her closer for a kiss, and Douglas was torn between annoyance and relief. _Things are as they should be_ , he mused as he and Arthur slipped once more behind the couple, amusement filling him as Carolyn shrugged off her partner’s arm in apparent exasperation. _Maybe in another life we could have made it work….but for now I’m content that whatever happens, no matter that you’re his….you’ll always be my Lyn_. The notion was enough to sustain him as they continued their journey onwards.

__FIN_ _


End file.
